She knew how he felt. Her accountant’s brain was already spinning. Even if they hurried and had a baby in the next two years—which they would probably have to do, if she actually wanted to get pregnant before menopause—she would still be in her sixties before the kid could get a driver’s license.
“Cornelia Mason Walsh,” Douglas said absently, changing the subject. Maybe he’d learned some tact from his courtroom experiences, after all. “That’ll take some getting used to. Are you hyphenating, ditching the maiden name altogether or staying as is?”
“What do you mean, as is?” Gerald asked, his expression genuinely befuddled. “She won’t be as is, she’ll be a married lady.”
“Not all women change their last names,” Vi said. “It’s the new millennium, Dad. Why should a woman give up her identity just because of an archaic ceremony? I was reading an article about how some modern couples legalize a completely new married name by combining syllables of their separate last names. You guys could be Mr. and Mrs. Walson.”
Savannah blinked. “That’s insane.”
A scathing denouncement coming from Savannah, Neely thought. Watching her two sisters debate could be interesting, but Beth was already steering the topic to ceremony specifics.
“If Robert comes from a small family and isn’t planning on many groomsmen, maybe we should scale back the number of bridesmaids attending Cornelia.”
“Scale back?” Neely echoed. “From what? I never decided on a number.”
“Three’s good,” her mother pronounced. “Obviously, you’ll want your two sisters and that friend of yours—Lee?”
“Leah. I asked her to be my maid of honor this morning.”
From there, suggestions seemed to fly at her randomly—Vi’s dictates on what she would or most certainly would not be willing to wear at the wedding, Savannah’s advice on a caterer she’d just read about in a local magazine and even Jason, mentioning a remote getaway one of his fellow practitioners had vacationed at, in case they were looking for honeymoon ideas.
Neely was overwhelmed by the “help.” She’d had a long time to grow accustomed to keeping her own counsel. While she normally sought Robert’s and Leah’s opinion on important matters, that was far different than half a dozen people all having ideas on what she should do. Granted, Beth always had an opinion, but until recently, Neely had been able to minimize exposure to her mom to once a month. Now, she felt as if she could barely keep up with the conversation aimed at her.
Robert’s hand found hers under the table, and she sighed, releasing some of the tension in her body. As overwhelming as the evening might be, she didn’t have to deal with it alone. Funny how comforting that thought was for someone so self-sufficient.
We’re living in a world gone mad. That was Vi’s conclusion as everyone adjourned to the parlor after dessert. Beth was still issuing matrimonial orders like a wedding planner on steroids, between asking Savannah to help with the coffee and informing Gerald he’d best take one of the smaller pie pieces. Douglas was still telling anecdotes from some of the ceremonies he’d participated in as best man. All as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
Was it possible no one else noticed how weird tonight had been?
Oh, it had started normally enough—her parents in their usual positions, Jason and Douglas shooting the bull while Savannah dutifully did whatever it was Savannah did in the kitchen. The cooking gene must have skipped Vi, because about the most ambitious dish she prepared was cereal, and even then she had to worry about pouring too much milk and ending up with soggy flakes. Then Neely had shown up with the man who was saving her from Aunt Jo’s predictions of “crazy neighborhood cat lady,” and introductions were made. Vi wasn’t really into older men, but for a guy pushing fifty, Robert wasn’t bad. She could definitely see where someone Neely’s age would be attracted to him. The evening had followed on cue with Douglas making his small, obnoxious jokes, such as ribbing Vi about her name. A definite source of contention.
It wasn’t just the unusual Southern moniker. In a way, Vidalia was pretty, even lyrical. But Savannah, the firstborn, had been named after Georgia’s very first city and Douglas after the city named for the man who challenged Lincoln for the presidency. The city Cornelia honored was famous for its big red apple statue, which wasn’t all that impressive or historically significant, but it was still better than onions, the famed Vidalia produce. She was named for a food that was smelly and known to make people cry.
And they wondered why she seemed bitter compared to Savannah.
Frankly, Vi thought choosing your offspring’s names based on a Georgia map was a little bizarre, but it could have been worse. We could have been Americus, Oglethorpe, Chatsworth and Flowery Branch—try living down those names on the fifth grade playground. Names, however, had nothing to do with why the evening had been strange.
Savannah, Beth’s little debutante, was polished and perfect in almost any social situation, yet she’d been quiet for the first half of the meal. Withdrawn, even. Maybe no one else had noticed because even without Savannah’s input, conversation had been lively. But Vi had already been wondering about her sister’s silence when she caught Savannah’s glances toward her husband. Undisciplined, furtive glances, the kind you shoot at someone even though you’ve told yourself you won’t. Like an ex you’ve vowed not to notice or maybe a man you love from afar. Or was it more like the glares you throw a boyfriend you were fighting with right before the party, even as you don’t want anyone else to know there’s something wrong?
Only Savannah didn’t look angry, just sad. When she’d briefly mentioned her wedding to Jason, the normal cheer was back in her voice, but Vi, alerted to it now, could spot the despair lurking in her sister’s bright gaze. What the hell could possibly be wrong enough in Savannah’s life to cause despair? Her entire life had always been as chipper and well-scripted as one of those syrupy feel-good movies televised around Christmas.
The subtle but abrupt change jolted Vi into mild alarm. Savannah’s being cheerful and flawless was as natural and unquestioned as sunrise.
Vi had cast a look at Neely, trying to catch her eye and see if her sister had noticed anything wrong. But Neely was busy staring in adoration at her husband-to-be. If Vi wasn’t mistaken, they might also have been playing a little innocent footsie under the table.
Then Neely had made a joke later about being glad Vi was in the wedding party because it gave her the chance to make her sister wear something frilly in public. Vi knew better than to buy into the threat—frills were not Neely’s style—and it had dawned on her that Neely was joking.
Footsie and attempted humor? It was enough to make Vi believe in pod people. Neely had always been the most standoffish of the Mason siblings, at least as far back as Vi could remember. Perhaps love was transforming the bride-to-be, but that left the unsolved mystery of what was bothering Savannah. The obvious answer would seem to be something between her and Jason, except his demeanor was totally relaxed. Besides, accepting that their marriage could be in trouble took more imagination than Vi possessed. And she’d always been quite the creative girl.
As she mulled over the situation that apparently only she had noticed, the irony struck her. Though she prided herself on being able to say just about anything, anywhere, without feeling the least self-conscious, she didn’t have the guts to ask her older sister, “Are you okay?”
While the rest of her family said good-night to Robert, Douglas followed Neely to the coat closet. Since she was perfectly capable of retrieving two jackets by herself, she figured this was where he bestowed his brotherly approval.
“He seems like a good guy,” Douglas said, confirming her deduction.
“He is.” Tonight was proof of that.
“I’m glad you found each other.” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks, looking downward. “May